


a sunday kind of love

by liviafan1



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, assuming Olivia forgives him for being gone TEN years, glimpse into their future, this is pretty fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liviafan1/pseuds/liviafan1
Summary: On Sundays, she doesn’t let herself get mired down thinking about all the time they missed out on together.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	a sunday kind of love

**Author's Note:**

> Needed a little break from the EO angst-fest in my WIP. I love the idea of taking glimpses into their future, so I will probably continue this as a series of standalones. 
> 
> This follows the (current) canon timeline with the knowledge that Elliot returns in some fashion next month.

On Sundays, she doesn’t let herself get mired down thinking about all the time they missed out on together. 

On Sundays, there’s just _them_ and the present moment, loving each other and the children they share between them.

Olivia knows without checking the time that it’s way too fucking early when he wakes, his broad, weathered hands curling at her backside to tug her back into the rightful, protective haven of his body after she drifted away at some point in the night. She loves that as much as touch is part of the way they love and communicate now — after so many years of carefully toeing that line — they still both need their space so often in the night.

“Liv,” he rumbles, low and sleepy in her ear, brushing her hair away from her face to the curve of her neck.

She half-heartedly swats his chest. “Fuck off,” she murmurs, but there’s no malice to it as she burrows her nose into his neck to shield her face from the rising sun. He chuckles throatily and the calloused glide of his palm at her lower back sends her toes curling up against his calf, heat pooling low in her belly. Ugh, damn him. 

She wants him — Christ, when does she _not_ — but god, she’s so tired. She and her squad have been running themselves ragged these last few days to catch a serial, with both the brass and the press hounding her every move. Elliot had been a godsend during his off hours — showing up at precinct in the wee hours with takeout for everyone and picking up her son from school and spending time together just the two of them (and occasionally Eli) so Olivia could let Lucy have a life for once.

After nearly a week, they’d finally caught the bastard after he got cocky and sloppy. She stayed long enough at the precinct to watch Fin and Rollins weasel a confession out of him before booking him for arraignment. After she strolled through the door of their apartment at 11:30 and kissed her son goodnight, she slipped into their bedroom, shed her clothes, and crawled into bed next to him to spend the next 45 minutes _thanking him so very much for how helpful he’d been_ before she crashed, sated, spent, and completely dead to the world.

Now? Now all she wants to do is sleep in before she spends a quiet day with her partner, her son, and potentially his 8 million other children if the two of them can wrangle them all together for an afternoon.

 _Partner_. 

Her friends still rib her for that, for the partner moniker — _it’s been over 10 years since you were partners, Liv,_ Fin would say with the shake of his head — but she’ll never give it up, still relishes the way it rolls off her tongue.

And yeah, maybe he’s not her partner at work anymore, but “boyfriend” could never be enough to describe their 23-year-long relationship — the depth, the magnitude, all the complications it’s taken to get them here to this point.

Well, that, and “boyfriend” just sounds so...young. Which, ahem, she is definitely _not_ anymore.

“Come on,” Elliot encourages, gently nipping at her ear. She shivers and he notices, asshole, pressing his smile into her cheek before he kisses her there. His lips travel back up to the shell of her ear. “Fuck me good morning and then you can go back to sleep and Noah and I will hang out on the couch for awhile with some cartoons.”

She groans as she pretends to think it over but he knows her, knows she’s already given in and he rolls her onto her back, his mouth already painting masterpieces on her neck with his tongue.

“Hmm,” she hums, pretending to think it over as she cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck — what little left of it there is, anyway. “You do drive a hard bargain.” She sighs, pretending to be put out. “You gonna do all the work, Stabler?”

He laughs, full and rich, and she’ll never tire of that sound. “Don’t I always?”

She gasps, jaw dropping in outrage. “Excuse me, pal, but pretty sure last night was all me.”

He hums in agreement, smudging his lips over that freckle on her shoulder that he loves. “Was that a blue moon I saw last night?”

“Wow, for a guy hoping to get laid this morning, you’re doing a piss-poor job of buttering me up.”

He looks up at her, a familiar, shit-eating grin stretched across his mouth. “Eh, I always did have a way with words.”

She tilts her head back on a laugh. “I hate you so much.”

But his smile is steady, doesn’t waver as his lips descend onto hers. “I love you too, Olivia,” he rumbles against her mouth, her breath catching in her throat. He’s said those words to her dozens of times now, but they never stop surprising her, never lose their luster.

She kind of hopes they never do.

His mouth drifts lazily down to her chest, goosebumps pebbling across her skin at the gentle graze of his five o’clock shadow. She looks down at him, really looks down at him, the first vestiges of sun dappling across the muscles in his back. It takes her breath away in the sappy kind of Sunday love way that she would never admit to under oath or threat of perjury.

She can’t always wrap her head around the fact that the two of them _finally_ made it here to this point after so long, so many obstacles, so much fear.

Sometimes she just wishes someone would pinch her so she would wake up.

“Ow,” she cries out as he nips a little too hard at the curve of her breast.

He chuckles against her. “Sorry, baby.” But they both know he’s not.

“Bastard,” she swears under her breath.

“Let me make it up to you,” he husks, his strong hands firmly gripping her thighs as his blue eyes glint up at her in a way that makes her mouth go dry. And then his head is between her legs and _oh, fuck_ she’s got nothing left to say.

She loves Sundays.


End file.
